𓆩yasmin𓆪

The sound of wood striking the mat cut short. His staff faltered mid-swing, balance wavering for a fraction of a second before he steadied himself. Not fast enough to hide the way his head jerked toward you, eyes wide, pupils dilated slightly.

“…What did you just say?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What? Did I say it wrong?”

He lowered the staff slowly, brows drawn together, ears betraying him as they pinked. His lips parted slightly, as if he had words ready but couldn’t decide which to use—or whether to say any at all. Finally, he cleared his throat, exhaling sharply, attempting control.

“You shouldn’t—” He paused, gaze darting away, then back, restless. “…You shouldn’t say things like that so casually.”

“Casually?” you echoed, stepping lightly onto the mat. “You say them all the time, hayati.”

He stiffened, then visibly relaxed by a hair’s breadth, shoulders dropping, but his jaw clenched. His green eyes flicked to yours, sharp and searching, as though he were measuring the danger in your smile.

You let the silence stretch, then spoke deliberately, soft and steady: “Beloved.”

The staff slipped from his fingers and hit the mat with a muted thud.

“Beloved,” he repeated, voice low, almost reflexive, as if trying to remind himself that he wasn’t imagining it. His lips twitched, caught between incredulity and restraint.

You smiled and took another step closer. “What?”

His jaw tightened, and his cheeks were faintly flushed. He looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words, couldn’t muster the strength to fight it.

You reached out, fingertips brushing his hair. He didn’t pull away—just swallowed hard, pulse quickening under your touch.

“…Say it again,” he murmured, barely above a whisper, eyes downcast, lashes brushing his cheek.

You leaned in, voice soft, lips near his ear: “Hayati.”

His reaction was subtle, but it struck you more powerfully for it. A sharp breath, caught halfway between a laugh and a sigh, escaped him. His forehead brushed against yours briefly, a tiny, almost involuntary gesture of surrender. He didn’t pull back, but you could feel the tension leaving him in micro-movements—an exhale here, a slight loosening of his shoulders there.

He stayed like that for a long moment, forehead resting lightly against yours, chest rising and falling unevenly. You felt him tremble just slightly under your touch, enough to make your chest tighten.

Finally, he peeked up at you from beneath his lashes, green eyes wide, but wary. “I—” His voice caught. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Shouldn’t have done what, Damian?”

He swallowed, gaze falling to your hand in his hair. “…You’re evil,” he muttered, faintly, lips twitching.

You stepped closer, pressing your forehead lightly against his. “Do you want me to stop?”

His laugh was low, shaky, restrained—but not unkind. “Do you think I’d ever want you to stop?” He let his hands rest on your waist, gripping just enough to anchor himself, not in surrender so much as in habit, a quiet acknowledgment of trust.

“Good,” you whispered, voice dropping slightly. “Because I’m not even close to done yet.”

You let another nickname fall, measured and soft: “Qalbi.”

His chest stiffened, lips parting faintly. A faint, sharp intake of breath, and then he pressed just a little closer, forehead nudging yours, eyes closing for a brief moment. “Stop,” he murmured, voice low, caught between plea and protest. “I can’t—”

“You can’t what?” you teased gently, smiling.

He groaned softly, face buried near your shoulder, to hide his embarrassment, succumbing to the effect you had on him. “You’re,” he huffs in frustration, gripping you tighter, voice muffled, “lethal.”

You laughed softly, hand running down his back. “Maybe,” you murmured, brushing a kiss along his temple, “come to bed now, habibi.”

He hesitated—just a moment—before giving a faint, reluctant sigh and letting you guide him. Later, when the two of you were laying together, his arms wrapped around your waist and face buried in your hair, he mumbled, “Say it again?” in the softest, sweetest voice, and who were you to deny him? 

a/n: its my first time writing for DC and I only got into it fairly recently, so if he seems OOC I apologize :\ honestly this is the most nervous i've ever been to post something If you have any recs/things I have to read to get a better grasp on any of the characters, feel free to tell me!!

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” you turned over in the uncomfortable seat until he could see nothing except the back of your head. “Which will be any day now by the looks of things.”

“You think I’m gonna let that happen?” Satoru ran a hand through his messy white head of hair. “We’re gonna make it to the refugee center, don’t you worry. I’ll get you there even if it kills me. If traffic hasn’t gotten better by sunrise, then we’ll just . . . abandon the car and start walking. Cardio’s good for the heart, so they say.”

Are you stupid? You want us to walk around with no protection, knowing that those things are out there? I’d rather stay trapped in the car! And I don’t think living off saltine crackers for who knows how long is good for the heart, so screw cardio. Now isn’t the time to make jokes. God, you annoy me.

That was what you thought. That was what you wished you could spew out verbally, but you only shifted a bit, and said, “My safety isn’t your responsibility, Satoru. Not anymore.”

“Are you being for real? You think that with everything going on right now, everything we just witnessed back home . . . you think that us being broken up matters in the grand scheme of things? Baby, come on.” He stared at the back of your head as he spoke. When seconds of silence passed, he tapped his hand against the top of the steering wheel and sighed out of pure frustration. “If I see one of those fucking monsters attack you, I’ll just let it happen since you’re my ex-girlfriend, and that apparently matters in a life or death situation. That’s what you want, right?”

You still didn’t respond. Not for a long time. There was a book in your hand, and you clenched it tightly.

The chatter and footsteps from outside the car felt uncomfortably loud in the midst of that unsettling quietness.

Say something, Satoru thought, resting his elbow on the driver’s seat door. You turned around in your seat. Your blanket fell from around your shoulders, drifting down to your waist.

“You’re missing my point, as per usual. I’m trying to figure out, why me? We broke up three years ago. Three years. And our town? It got overrun two days ago. Everyone had to grab food and water and their loved ones and get the hell out as quickly as possible. So why did you take the time to find me? Out of everyone else in your life, why’d you show up at my doorstep, desperate to save your ex?”

“Because I still love you more than anyone else in my life. Isn’t that obvious?” Satoru smiled sadly.

Your eyes met his for the first time in what felt like three years.

“What? Did you think I was going to say something different?” Satoru stated as if his earlier confession was an obvious fact: The sky is blue. Two plus two equals four. And I’m still in love with you.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you mumbled, and rolled over in the seat yet again. “Don’t get any mixed ideas. The second we get to the refugee, shelter place, whatever- we’re done. One hundred percent finished. We’ll part ways for good. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Satoru unfolded a piece of ancient work unbeknownst to most of society due to the arrival of technology: a map. “Loud and clear.”

— THREE DAYS LATER —

The Safe Place, as some called it, could more accurately be named a madhouse.

Traffic never moved forward. Many fellow stuck civilians had all gathered on the highway, Satoru among them, and agreed that they all had a better chance of dying than seeing the countless amount of cars piled up along the roads finally start to move forward.

And, eventually, just as water was starting to become a memory and the first signs of dehydration had your head spinning — the summer heat you walked in for days did you no favors — you all stumbled upon a crowded, one-level building with people spilling out of the doors, fighting for their right to retrieve whatever was inside. Food. A bed. Clean clothes. Water.

All the things you so desperately wanted.

Armed guards prevented the massive wave of people from entering the shelter. But getting shot didn’t seem as scary as not being allowed entry to some, and they still tried to fight their way inside.

“I have three kids! Please, please let us in, sir,” one woman cried.

You and Satoru were further back in line, and you could only make out the back of her messy head of hair, but you heard the guard she argued with quite clearly.

“We’re at max capacity. Hell, past that now, lady. There’s nothin’ I can do for ya, ‘m sorry.”

His words sparked a wave of panic. All at once, people began to shout. To push forward.

“What do you mean you’re full?”

“You’re going to leave us out here to die like animals?”

“Let us in!”

“We have a right to live, you piece of shit!”

The unsettling bodies were pressing against yours, pressing you and Satoru together, so much so that it became hard to breathe. One man roughly knocked you off your feet as he made his way past you in line. Large hands caught you before you hit the ground and became the new stomping mat of the riot slowly starting to come about.

Satoru straightened you up. He gripped your shoulders to steady you, and he said, “We gotta get out of here now.”

“And go where?”

Satoru could barely hear your response. But he didn’t have to. He knew you, and he knew you’d ask the most logical question there was to utter amidst the chaos.

“We’ll find-”

His words, which held no meaning anyway, were interrupted by the sound of two gunshots, followed by a fresh explosion of shrieks and cries. People ducked instinctively.

The guard who shot one person in the chest and another in the stomach did so as a way of sending a crystal clear message: calm down and stop trying to enter the shelter, or this is what you’ll get.

Your ex-boyfriend’s blue eyes started to flicker at various things, and you knew what he was doing. He was thinking. It was the face he made while grading poorly-written student essays, or figuring out the best way to apologize to you after showing up an hour past the date-night reservations you made, seeing you stand outside of a fancy restaurant, having eaten without him, a book in hand because you knew he’d screw this up. You were all alone.

All of the guards are distracted right now. I could sneak her in. No . . . if she gets caught, they’ll shoot her. Not to mention she could get trampled just from trying to make it to the front . . . shit.

But where would we go? See if we can find a car and avoid that mess of a highway? Pray the next town over wasn’t somehow hit with whatever the hell ours was hit with? What the hell is going on? No one knows, not really.

Large, skeptical hands turned you around and started to guide you out of the chaotic crowd. It wasn’t easy. Satoru used his height to his advantage, but even he nearly stumbled and fell over more times than he could count.

Your ribs ached from elbows unintentionally slamming into them. The thumping in your head? Well, that was for a number of reasons. Getting hit, being thirsty, and coming to terms with the reality of the situation: there was nowhere for you to go.

—

“I’m just saying. I haven’t seen any dead people. Are we sure this isn’t one big social experiment?” Your words were soft, and without amusement.

Satoru might not have remembered what kind of flowers you preferred, but he recognized the tones of your voice, and you weren’t speaking out of disbelief, rolling your eyes as you chalked it all up to a conspiracy theory, but out of desperate hope.

The smoldering flames of the dying fire that sat between you and Satoru illuminated that very hope in your eyes as you continued to speak.

“J-Just think about it. We all saw the news go on and on about this disease. Next thing we know, everyone in our town is panicking and fleeing, but . . . I just think that for all this outrage, I’d have seen a dead person come back to life and start eating people by now with my own eyes.”

“I have.”

It seemed as if the darkness of the night that surrounded you both, so unsheltered among the side of the open road, had grown all the more dark. Over a day had passed since you both tried to enter the madhouse- no, shelter. It was a shelter.

The neighboring town was still as clean and polished as it had been a week ago, when Satoru strolled down the people-filled streets in his car on the way to his favorite dessert shop.

The only difference was that, now, the only souls that seemed to linger around were his and yours. Not even the souls of the dead that had started to rise, apparently.

Satoru summed up that bittersweet luck to the fact that this town more than likely evacuated before yours did. All of its citizens were, perhaps, the ones who crowded the refugee camp, so much so that the people of your town weren’t allowed entry.

And you had a point.

If it wasn’t for the fact that, before Satoru arrived on your doorstep several days ago, he saw what he saw, he might have found truth in your accusation.

“Who turned? Was it your parents? A friend?”

“A student,” he mumbled.

“Oh.”

Satoru thought that little hum of yours marked the end of the conversation, and the sounds of crackling wood filled the silence for a moment. Then, you continued to ask, “What happened?”

His jaw clenched.

Why would you ask me that? He thought.

“It’s not really a subject for polite conversation,” Satoru said with a seriousness that was quite unusual. Even during past arguments when you begged and prayed and pleaded for him to listen, listen, and listen. To wipe that smug smirk off of his face and fucking listen, never before had he seemed so cold. All the light left his eyes, as if he were the one who died, and not his student.

“All you need to know is that it’s real, just as dangerous as they say, and . . . I don’t think . . .” he paused, as if to choose his next words carefully. “I think that, come sunrise, we should prioritize finding weapons just as much as food and water. It might even be more important.”

“What? No way. Weapons are important, but it’s been days since the so-called outbreak, I haven’t seen one, so . . . maybe they aren’t all that common. We might have a better chance of coming across a wild bear, so I think the knife I grabbed from my kitchen will be just fine. Food first.”

“Your dull knives could barely even chop through an onion. If that’s all the protection we have, we’re as good as dead.”

“Okay, since you’re an expert on apocalypses," you yawned, lying down on the cold, hard patch of grass beside the road, “why didn’t you think to grab any weapons before grabbing your ex?”

“I’m a high school teacher, not part of the military. What weapons did you think I would’ve had?”

“That old baseball bat in your garage, your kitchen knives which, apparently, are oh so sharp and cool, um . . . a leg off of your dining room table, anything. But, you were too focused on being a hero, hm?”

“Alright, I get it.” Satoru rolled up the sleeves of his dirty, unbuttoned blue shirt. “You wish I left you behind, you don’t want anything to do with me, blah blah blah-”

“See? You’re a grown man saying blah blah blah, dismissing my feelings, and you wonder why I’d rather take my chances on my own.”

“You know, I didn’t drag you out of your house and force you into my car. You came out of your own free will.”

You frowned. “Well, I’m not an idiot, am I? I’m forever pissed at you, but I’m not stupid enough to turn down a ride out of a town falling apart. I thought that once we found a safe place, it would be safe enough for us to split up, but that didn’t work out, sooo here I am, still stuck with you until we do find a safe place and I can say goodbye to you forever, because, like I said, I’m not an idiot.”

It was silent for a moment. You wanted to break eye contact with him. Let your words reign true, that was it, that was that.

But you could only stare at the sadness suddenly possessing his dirty face. The corner of his lips pointed downward. His eyes glistened as if tears would fall from them with the simplest blink. “You hate me that much?” He whispered. “Were you that miserable with me?”

“I wasn’t miserable with you, I was miserable without you. You were never there when I needed you.”

“I’m here now.”

“I don’t need or want you now.”

“Yes, you do.” Satoru darted his gaze down to the dying flames. “You just admitted that you need me until you find a safe place. You’re using me, and I’m just gonna let you, ‘cause I know if I don’t, you’ll die.”

“You think I’d die without you? The high school teacher who couldn’t even remember to call me back, show up for dates, or that it was my birthday until late at night when you finally would piece together why I’d been rolling my eyes at you all day long? Please. Being with you for now is better than being alone, but I’d do just fine without you. Always have.”

You rolled over then, but the conversation wasn’t quite finished. Satoru’s voice that sounded from behind you took on a tone so dark, so low — it was almost frightening.

“You really don’t get it. Guess it’s ‘cause you haven’t seen it before, yeah? People are getting sick, slowly dying, slowly losing every part of themselves, but not all at once. They come back from the dead and can still kinda piece together who they are at first, but all of that gets overshadowed by this desire to eat people. I went to check on my student who hadn’t been to school for a while. Our families are close and whatnot, so I was worried about him. He was sick. Everyone thought it was the flu. But when I showed up, he was sitting at his desk, dead. Chest wasn’t moving. He was just . . . dead. And you know how good of a student he was? Even though he was sick, he was still trying to finish his essay. I saw the stupid pieces of paper underneath his head. He, uh, he was dead, but, after a while, we saw him start to move. I thought that, maybe, his body was just naturally trying to fall out of the chair, ya know? Oh, was I wrong. He stood up. His eyes opened, he turned around, and he came straight for me. I had to . . . anyway, after, I thought it was weird that, even though his parents and sister were closer, he came straight for me. Then, I looked down, and I saw that his essay was in his hands. He might have been trying to eat me, but I think . . . I think in Megumi’s mind, he thought he was just giving his teacher his essay.” Satoru saw your body stiffen as he recounted his tale. His misery. “Point is, it took all of my strength, his step-mom’s, and his dad’s, to get him off of me, and he had been freshly turned for not even thirty seconds. I can’t imagine the strength and bloodlust of one that’s been turned longer. So, for you to say you don’t need or want me because of relationship drama that no longer matters in the face of all this goddamn bullshit is ridiculous.”

You wanted to move your body, as the hard ground you tried to imagine was your warm bed had started to make your bone ache terribly, but despite the warm weather, it felt as though your limbs were frozen. His words, paralyzing.

“You treated me like shit when all I tried to do was love you. What happens when I’m the one slowing you down? What happens if we’re low on food and there isn’t enough for both of us? You keep saying it doesn’t matter anymore, but you expect me to believe the man who always forgot about me will have my back now?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to bed.”

Despite your words, you rose from the ground, messy boots scraping against the rocky grass as you started to walk away.

“Woah, woah, where are you going?” Satoru hopped up.

“Just further down the road. I think you and I could benefit from a little distance,” you said, stepping away from him.

He reached out to grab your wrist. “Now you’re just being stupid-”

“Oh, fuck off, Satoru! I’m an adult, I can do what I want!” The explosion of anger scared you more than it scared him. The rise of every bit of heartbreak you still hadn’t yet healed from had bubbled to the surface, and you snatched your wrist away from him as if his touch burned your skin. “I bet you’re happy about this situation because you have a chance to force me back into your life and treat me like your little fucking pet again, but you know what? Here.” You reached for your bags. By now, your supplies and his supplies had become one, mixed together in either bag, because, well, you were together, after all. But you started to toss everything that he claimed as his out of your backpack. “Take your stale crackers, your fucking clothes, your stupid photo album, just take it all back. I’m done.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, not bothering to close it.

He tried to call your name, tried to grab ahold of you, but you wouldn’t have it. And he couldn’t force you to stay put, could he? You were no longer his.

Satoru stared at the fire well into the night, long enough for a reasonable amount of time to pass in which you’d hopefully cool off.

It was no different than sitting on the couch, waiting until you unlocked the bedroom door after one of his great, big, fuck-ups.

He stood and started walking. It was quite dark beyond the small fire he created. The only other light that guided his path shone down upon him from the full moon, but it was barely enough.

He didn’t expect you to come back to his spot. You said you were going to sleep. But he couldn’t even blink properly out of the pure anxiety crawling up his throat over not knowing your whereabouts.

I’m just gonna check on her, get yelled at probably, then I’ll go back to my spot, he thought.

But with every step he took in the direction you stomped off in, he only saw trees. The road. Grass. The moon. The stars.

Never you.

He called your name quite a few times, but nothing came of it. Only chirping crickets answered him.

—

Walking was a great way to work through one’s stress, so they say. That was how you found yourself entering the abandoned, picturesque town in the dead of night, around two or three miles up the road.

You couldn’t remember entering an abandoned library. Perhaps, with the cloud of anger hanging over you, you no longer thought about the state of the world. You only knew a library or bookstore was often your source of comfort during dark moments, and much to your surprise, the doors to this one opened with one tug of your arm.

There was an awkward maneuver of slinging your bag around and digging through it to fetch your flashlight — the moon and stars no longer able to service you, not in here — but you got it, flicked it on, and there it was.

A countless amount of dusty novels that were left behind by their townsfolk in search of food or medicine. You grabbed one without bothering to check for the author or an eye-catching synopsis. Anything would do. Absolutely anything.

The carpeted floor seemed cozy enough. Warm enough. You sat down nearest one of the bookcases, shone your flashlight upon the inked words, and started to read.

Half an hour had passed before you were awakened by the sounds of groans and growls. You dozed off while reading. Waking up in a rather disorienting state with complete blackness surrounding you made you forget what kind of noises you heard. You only remembered that you heard something.

“‘Toru?” You called out softly.

Some noises sounded human. As in, the poor soul making those noises hadn’t yet been too far gone. But some had. Some were no longer capable of making noises that resembled the person they once were. But in truth, as you grabbed your flashlight and shone it forward, the small herd of people — no, these weren’t people — they were monsters. Animals. Dead. Hungry. Able to rip you apart limb from limb, and they made their way into the library through the door you forgot to shut behind you, and started to approach you.

“Oh my god,” you cried, tossing your trembling hand over your mouth.

You started to scramble to your feet. No time to search for that dull kitchen knife.

“Run!”

The shout belonged to Satoru. You knew it. But you couldn’t pinpoint his location, not daring to snatch your flashlight away from the ungodly things headed right for you.

Going through the entrance was impossible — that was their way in.

Your only hope was for another exit — it was a public building. There had to be another.

With your unwelcomed company on your tail, you tried to find a door, an exit sign, anything, but you could barely breathe. Barely think.

Being afraid was an understatement.

“Don’t stop moving!”

The shout came from above you, towards the right. You saw him.

The library building itself was rather beautiful, as it had two floors, the second with an all-around balcony that let one browse for more books, while also peering over onto the first floor. That was where Satoru was. Watching the entire thing from above.

He tried tossing books, dying plants — even a reading chair — over the balcony to draw them away from you, and it worked for some, but not all. Not most.

He would have kept going, but then, you shouted, amidst your aimless running, “they’re behind you!”

Those words would have, should have, sent a wave of panic through him, making his knees want to buckle, create the urge to throw up his insides, or drain the color from his skin. And while those things happened, it wasn’t because you alerted him to his own company on the second floor, but it was because the moonlight shining through the windows of the library allowed him to see the herd start to back you into a corner.

“No.” The cry slipped out from between his quivering lips.

You cried his name. Not his full name, but the nickname you adored whenever you felt needy or frightened. He thought it was because of your impending doom, but in truth, it was because he was about to meet a similar fate.

He felt hands grace the back of his shirt, but there were too many around him, just as there were too many around you.

Just too many.

You watched as Satoru vanished into the herd grabbing at his clothes and limbs, unable to fight them off.

And he watched as your figure vanished, and the other herd piled on top of you. And they started to feast.

— FOUR YEARS LATER —

The world no longer resembled the civilization or society it once knew. Overgrown grass and vines had started to climb most buildings, and said buildings were all trashed, abandoned, and picked apart by desperate survivors.

But the people — the last of those who hadn’t been eaten or turned — they were worse. Empty shells of the person they used to be before the world went to shit.

That was the reason why you treated every stranger like an enemy. As far as you were concerned, they were.

The woods were peaceful today. Leaves were changing colors, representing the arrival of the fall season. The thought of trying to survive another winter sent a shiver up your spine, but you couldn’t worry about that right now.

Only on how to make it to tomorrow.

If my traps didn’t catch anything, that’ll mark day three of going to sleep hungry, you thought. Nothing new, I suppose.

Suddenly, you heard a leaf crunch.

You drew your gun instantly, gripping the small weapon with both hands.

A figure moved past one of the trees, catching your eye, and they were much too fast to be one of those damned monsters. It was a human.

He appeared in front of you — or rather, in front of the barrel of your gun — in an instant, halting his footsteps, startled, as if he hadn’t expected to run into anything or anyone out here in the woods, as if the world was still a somewhat safe place.

“Drop it.” You said lowly to the unfamiliar man, eyeing the knife in his right hand.

“There’s no way-”

“I said to fucking drop it!” You cut him off, stepping closer. One wrong move, and you’d fire a bullet in his head.

“Okay, okay.” The man tossed the knife to the ground, but he never snatched his eyes away from you. And they weren’t necessarily filled with fear, but rather, shock. “It’s me, Satoru. Don’t you-”

“Turn around.”

“Please, you gotta recognize-”

“Turn around.” You grabbed him, turning him around yourself. And he let you. Despite the advantage he had in strength and height, he didn’t fight. You chalked it up to you being armed. “Shut up and don’t move,” you ordered.

You gave him a quick, one-handed pat down before removing the bag he carried.

You cautiously stepped away from him, his back still turned, and you opened it, dumping out the nonsensical items that fell onto the orange leaves and dirt.

He has nothing of value, you thought, flipping through his belongings. What would I kill and rob him for? A book and a photo album?

Suddenly, the man spoke.

And it was a call of your name.

Your eyes widened, and you rose to your feet to see him turning around, his hands in the air.

You were quick to press the gun against his chest.

He took a step back. “Easy, easy-”

“How the hell do you know my name?”

Sadness as clear as day was evident in his eyes. His ears and cheeks had gone red. Whatever was upsetting him had wrecked him so much so, he looked like a kid, or a kicked puppy. “Because it’s me. Satoru Gojo. We dated years ago, remember? I got you out of your hometown when the outbreak started four years ago. We got separated, and I thought . . . I can’t believe you’re alive. Please, baby, you gotta believe me. You gotta recognize me,” a tear rolled down his cheek, not a result of being close to death, but from being forgotten. He nodded at the book of photos on the ground. “Look through the photo album.”

You had seen your fair share of crazy, unstable individuals, but he seemed somewhat normal. His words were unsettling, as if they rattled some buried truth within your core, creating butterflies or nausea — you couldn’t tell the difference — in your stomach.

So you did as he instructed.

You crouched down, gun still in hand, and flipped it open.

There were pictures of the man with people who looked like him. People who didn’t. And someone who looked like you. She had your features, but she was clean. Grinning. Her eyes hadn’t yet grown dark. You, before it happened.

There were more photographs, and every single one forced a memory into your head at an unforgivable pace. Birthdays. Car rides. Pictures he took of you without your knowledge.

You laughed sadly, shaking your head. “I, um . . . I don’t rule out any weird shit nowadays, but if I remember correctly, the man in these pictures got eaten alive. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“No, I didn’t die. I’m here,” Satoru approached you. “There was a-a door behind me. I was able to open it, go down some stairs, and leave. I came around the building, but you were gone. All I saw was them dining on someone and your shoe, all covered in blood and, I heard you call me ‘Toru, which you only do when you’re scared. How the hell are you alive? How?”

You rose to your feet. “Shoe fell off. Dead guy on the floor behind me. Just tossed him at them and ran for it. No big deal.” You started to walk away. “Bye.”

“Wait, what?” Satoru grabbed his backpack and tossed his dumped belongings inside before he jogged in front of you, making you halt your steps. “You’re leaving? I thought you were dead for years, and you thought the same thing about me. We can’t just go our separate ways now, c’mon.”

“Just because we knew each other once doesn’t mean we still do.” You clenched your gun as some sort of warning. “So get out of my sight before I change my mind about letting you live.”

“Please, baby-”

“Don’t call me that. My memory’s working just fine now. I didn’t want anything to do with you then, and that same logic applies. You’re traveling out here with no food or water. Your clothes aren’t torn to shreds. T-shirt looks pretty clean. Your hair looks like someone trimmed it up for you recently. I’m willing to bet you found a nice group of people to settle down somewhere with, and you haven’t known true struggle since this entire thing started.” Your hands started to tremble. There was anger glistening in your eyes, so intense, he didn’t recognize it as you continued to speak. “And you think . . . you think I’m going to follow you anywhere? No. I’ve been tricked like this a coupla times, Satoru. Too many people who were up to something inhumane have done and tried to do the same fucking thing you’re doing now, and I’m not falling for it again. Now leave. I’m keeping this gun pointed in your direction until you’re so far away, I start to forget about you again.”

“I would never, ever hurt you. I’m begging you to believe me.”

“Seems like you’re begging for death to me-”

There was another leaf crunch. Multiple.

I knew it, you thought. This was a setup. His people are here.

You saw the figures moving in the distance. And in an instant, you felt like that girl from three years ago, one who was all lost, alone, cold, hungry, and trusted the wrong group who approached her.

But not again.

You pushed Satoru down, only able to do so because he too had turned to inspect the noise, and once he hit the ground, you ran into the ever-changing trees.

Your footsteps only came to a halt when you heard those familiar groans and growls.

It wasn’t his group.

Guilt started to swirl around in your stomach, and you turned, but not to help. To watch, unsure of what you were hoping the outcome would be.

Satoru managed to get to his feet and grab his knife.

With great skill, with great, unwanted practice, he stabbed the hungry, dead bodies circling him in their skulls. He’d yank it out, blood would spew, and he’d do it again, and again, all as if it was a simply as washing dishes, blood soaking his clothes instead of soapy water.

Once the last one hit the ground, you turned away, only to come face to face with one that wasn’t among the crowd Satoru slaughtered.

You killed it rather easily with the knife you kept tucked in your belt loop.

But, by then, Satoru was within your line of sight, unsmiling.

His blood-covered chest heaved from exhaustion. But you couldn’t help but assume anger was also a reason.

He took a step in your direction. His blue, wide eyes locked with yours.

Suddenly, he charged.

You thought he was coming for you.

He was fast, fast enough to let you know that if he wanted to hurt you, he truly could have, so long as you didn’t have your gun. What a horrifying realization.

But when you felt a rough hand grace your shoulder from behind, you realized just as Satoru stuck his knife in the head of another zombie what his true intentions were: saving your life.

There was no time for thanks or for arguments, as more of them started to appear, ruining the atmosphere of the woods you once found peaceful.

You and Satoru ran alongside one another, making your way into the nearest town.

—

Perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps it was the curiosity of wanting to know the person whom you couldn’t remember until today.

But you hadn’t yet told Satoru to leave your side well after you escaped the herd, and as you both broke into an abandoned retail store for shelter, you were the one to speak first.

“I thought those were people. Your people. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said simply, moving in through the front door behind you.

“I also didn’t consider helping you once I realized they weren’t,” you shone your flashlight over the broken candles and glass. “I was fine with letting you die.”

“It’s okay.”

“But you came back to save me.”

“That’s what happens when you’re still the person I love most in the entire world, I take it.”

His words made you turn around, shining the harsh light in his face, but he continued, even with a little smile upon his blood-covered face. “And I’m the person you hate the most, still.”

You put your backpack on the ground nearest a shelf of scented lotions. “It’s getting late. We can move some of these display tables and shelves and block the door, spend the night here, and go our separate ways in the morning.”

“Where are you headed?” He asked, starting to clear off one of the tables.

You didn’t answer. You only stared at him with great suspicion.

“Hey, I’m only asking because you were wrong about me not knowing what it’s really like out here, but you were right about me being with a group. I found some old coworkers and students of mine. We lost a lot of people, but some of us are still holding on, tough bastards. You might even recognize some of them from back home, you know. And, well, we don’t have an all-you-can-eat buffet going, but we do have food and clean water. Clothes too. Soap.”

You nodded in the direction of the singular soap bar left behind on one of the shelves. “And so does this place.”

“You need a group-”

“No!” You suddenly shouted, making Satoru halt his movements all at once. “Never again. People are worse than those fucking monsters. Now stop begging me, or else I’ll shoot you. I’ll shoot you and think nothing of it, swear I will.”

Satoru didn’t say another word after that. He only helped you block the doors, watched you go through the picked-over store merchandise, and wondered what the hell happened to his ex-girlfriend. But he’d never ask.

—

The festering tension had died down after you both cleaned your bodies with the very little water you could allot for bathing, and the bar of soap you found.

However, today felt like Christmas. Because, underneath the counter that formerly served as a register, there was a protein bar. You imagined that it belonged to an employee who liked to sneak snacks when their managers weren’t looking, but it didn’t matter. It was here.

Old and expired, but better than nothing.

You unwrapped the stale, nutty bar, and split it in half, handing some to Satoru.

“I’m all good here,” he shook his head.

“So confident you’ll make it back to your group safely that you’ll pass up on food now? You’re just as stupid as you were when we got separated.”

“Why would I take away food from someone who doesn’t know where their next meal will come from?” Satoru looked at you. “I mean, I know where mine is. Next meal, next bath, we even have mattresses . . .”

“What did I just say?”

“Nah ah, no shooting.” Satoru waved his finger at you, grinning. “You brought it up this time, baby.”

“It amazes me that you’re still alive,” you rolled your eyes, biting into your dinner.

“Shocks me too,” Satoru’s face took on a somber expression you could barely make out within the darkness. “Especially after I thought I lost you for good. I was kinda looking for ways to die, you know? I’m one lucky fool.”

“Why do you say things like that?”

“Huh?”

“Losing me couldn’t have impacted your life that much.” You took another bite, your last one before saving the rest for later. “I don’t understand you. If I was . . . if I am . . . the person you love most, why’d you treat me that way? Why did the world have to end for you to finally see me?”

Satoru sighed, but not out of annoyance. “I guess I took advantage of having you in my life. I thought that I could be an idiot, and you’d stay. I was one of those people who thought that the only bad things someone could do in a relationship was cheat or hit their partner, and so I figured, since I wasn’t doing any of those things and just missed a few dinners and anniversaries, then you and I were fine. See? A goddamn fool. But I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You shrugged.

“Yes, it does. I was wrong to tell you it didn’t matter back then. And you’re wrong to say it doesn’t matter now, ‘cause it does. Yeah, we’re living in hell, but I was putting you through hell long before now, and I didn’t realize it. I’m going to risk my life and say this one last time, but I need you to come back to my camp with me. I can’t just walk away from you come sunrise.”

“No.”

“Then let me come with you.”

You widened your tired eyes. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes. So, whaddya say?” He smiled.

“I won’t let you give up on something as rare and as precious as your little safe place for me.”

“Fineee,” Satoru shifted his position, hitting his backpack as if fluffing a pillow before lying down on it. “Then I guess you’ll just have to kill me. I mean, I’m just gonna follow you no matter where you go, I swear I am, so . . .”

“Just . . .” you paused. “Just shut up and go to bed.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The drastic drop in temperature throughout the night was the first sign of an approaching winter. Finding warmer clothes was on your eventual to-do list, but damn it, as you shivered, you couldn’t help but wish you had prioritized it.

What the hell is the matter with me? I’ve survived too long to act like an idiot now. I blame Satoru, you thought as you started to rise, thinking that even lighting a few of the abandoned candles might have offered a little bit of warmth, when suddenly, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist.

Satoru pulled you close until your back hit his chest.

Only when he felt your body stiffen did he realize — did he remember — holding you close wasn’t something he was allowed to do. Not anymore.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I saw you shivering and-” Satoru whispered from behind you. “Nothing but instinct. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Your response was surprising. He expected another death threat. But he didn’t question it. Instead, he stroked the back of your cold hands with his warmer ones.

It wasn’t long before he heard a couple of sniffles rather than snores.

“Are you crying?” He asked softly.

“No,” you sniffled. “Shut up.”

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” What a stupid question. Most people cried every day, if they lived to see another day.

“I just haven’t been held in years. I don’t remember the last time I even hugged someone.”You snuggled closer against him, and Satoru’s heart started to melt. “It’s no big deal. Just go to sleep.”

— TWO DAYS LATER —

He meant what he said. Satoru Gojo was on your heel like a lost puppy. And though your journey was a far cry from the luxury he was used to — access to basic necessities in truth, but a luxury four years into the end of the world — he never stopped grinning. Never complained. He bore it all with a smile: the hunger, the dirt, the exhausting walks, running for his life, killing, killing, killing.

“I changed my mind.”

Your words broke a comfortable silence, one that accompanied the gorgeous view of the autumn trees from the cliffside hill you both sat upon, nearest the fire he roasted a piece of fish above. It was so beautiful, watching the sunset. Breath-taking. So much so, Satoru hadn’t fully grasped your words until you spoke again, claiming the spot next to him.

“I’ll go back to your camp with you.”

“Really?” Satoru tried to hide the excitement and relief he felt, but it was impossible. He was nearly jumping out of his boots.

“I feel guilty,” you shrugged, then eyed his state. His messy hair, dirty clothes, ripped pants — which would have been fine had the world been normal and fashion trends mattered, but out here, when one needed all the warmth they could get, ripped clothing was a disaster waiting to happen. “It’s been two days, and you’re already a mess, Satoru. If I can’t get you to give up on sticking with me, then, camp it is. I can’t stand feeling like I’m killing you slowly.”

“Can’t stand it, hm?” He grinned, pleased with the fact that wasn’t always so obvious: you cared about him. “I’m glad you changed your mind, but if I die out here, it’s on me, not you.”

You gave a hum in response. You couldn’t help but fidget with your fingers. After all, the idea of being in another camp with other people frightened you more than anything else nowadays. But the idea of having access to things you once took for granted? The idea of, maybe, just maybe, being able to talk to someone or have a meal that was somewhat decently sized — the idea of being around him? With him?

You couldn’t help but stare at him for a while. He looked up, catching your gaze, though you tried to slickly flicker your eyes down at the fish.

“How many fish were you able to catch?” You asked.

He smiled, deciding not to comment on your lingering stare. But, oh, how he wished it lasted longer. “Just one for now. I’ll give you the bigger half.”

“No, split it evenly.”

“You got it.” Satoru pulled the cooked fish out of the fire. With a cleaned knife, he split it, but the portions were drastically uneven.

He gave you a piece of fish so big, you had to wonder, for a moment, if he had bothered to cut it at all.

“Here you go, your half of the fish,” he said.

“This looks like a bit more than half,” you held it up, inspecting the hot meat with a little smile.

“Huh? I can’t hear you.” Satoru hid his tiny portion in his big hands as he moved it to the side of a log, as if to prevent you from comparing, but then, he noticed something. Something as rare as a shooting star. “Was that a smile? Did I just see you smile?”

You tried to wipe the grin off your face and turn away from him.

“Nuh uh, don’t turn away, I wanna see it again.”

“Absolutely not.” You placed the fish down on the log in front of you. You couldn’t eat just this second, not when butterflies were swirling around in your stomach.

You started to fidget with your hands again. God, this was silly. You felt like a giggly schoolgirl rather than a survivor of the apocalypse, much like you once did when you first met all those years ago, when he was the guy at the bookstore purchasing a few copies of the mandatory novels his students had to read for those who were less fortunate and couldn’t get access to them as easily. He wasn’t allowed to do that. Hell, he wasn’t even an English teacher, but he did it anyway.

Then he saw you. Purchased the three novels in your hand for you all the while wondering if he should take up the part-time job as a bartender he had been eyeing lately, all to keep up with the book shopping habit of the girl he had just learned the name of. That day, he spoke to you in ways that had you acting similarly to how you did now. A lovesick fool.

Suddenly, you felt fingers press against your waist. A couple of days ago, you would have sliced the hand of anyone who dared to touch you that way, but around him, you could relax. You could breathe, and just be.

“Satoru!” You whisper-shouted, choking back the urge to giggle as you flinched.

“You’re still ticklish?” He did it again, and there it was. The sound that was a foreign concept for anyone nowadays. A laugh.

“Yes!” You giggled. “It’s not something that just goes away!”

He looked for any signs that you wanted him to stop, but when he saw that your eyes were practically begging him to keep going, as if the windows to your soul showcased what you so desperately needed — affection, a good laugh, some sort of happiness — he gently, yet swiftly, got you onto your back, practically straddling you as he continued to tickle your sides.

“Oh, I-I’m getting you back for this,” you gasped for breath, laughing, playfully trying to swat his hands away, but not really putting in any effort. “Just you wait!”

What came next was a result of his love and affection for you, a result of seeing you laugh and smile and him thinking, she’s so beautiful.

Satoru leaned over and kissed your cheek.

You froze. He froze.

“Shit, I’m sorry. It was, um . . . instinct again,” he blushed. He was starting to move away from you, but you suddenly grabbed hold of his wrist.

“Wait, it’s fine,” you were unable to look him in the eye as you said, “you can do it again.”

Soft lips pressed against your skin yet again, lingering, wanting more.

He moved his lips a little closer to your jaw.

“Can I kiss you here as well?” He whispered with an eagerness he tried to hide, but failed to.

“Yes.”

“Where all can I kiss you?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

His other hand cupped the side of your head. You found yourself leaning into his palm, all the while his lips trailed kisses along the side of your neck.

“Satoru, don’t tease me. It’s been too long.”

“I won’t baby, promise.”

—

For the first time in years, your skin knew something other than bruises. Hickeys decorated it as if Satoru wanted to mark you as his.

He pulled your naked frame closer to the fire for warmth, used his bag as a cushion for your head, and one hand gripped your ass in a way that made every thrust feel that much deeper, and his other held you against him, as if your body touching the floor of the woods was a sin.

His thick cock pumped in and out of you with a familiar rhythm he remembered you once loving. Pretty moans slipped from between your lips in such a way that he almost hated the idea of kissing you, but he dreaded the idea of not doing so even more. It took you by surprise — his mouth melting against yours, shutting you up in the best possible way, but he too moaned when your wet tongues started to swirl around each other.

“Can’t hold it long,” he whispered into your mouth, though the warning wasn’t needed, as the way his hips bucked with loosening restraint was a telltale sign that he was about to cum. And if you remembered one thing about Satoru Gojo, it was that he liked to make a mess, pump you full over and over again until he was certain your warm hole had milked him dry.

He gave another thrust, one that had you both seeing stars, and not the ones that glistened in the sky behind his messy hair, but the ones that came when he angled his cock just right.

“Mmm, right there, oh god,” he moaned, pulling his hips back before driving his cock in again. “You like it too, huh?”

His hand released your ass, and instead, gripped the surrounding grass as if the ground itself could ground him.

“Fuck,” he swore, and quickened his pace. “Cum for me, baby.”

“Please, please, Satoru.”

You begged for something, you didn’t know what exactly, but it wasn’t long before a rather powerful orgasm washed over you. Your toes curled, sweat dripped across your forehead, and that explosion of pleasure knocked every bit of sense out of you as your nails scratched up his muscular back.

He didn’t stop, though. Your thrashing frame was only held against him tighter by his other arm. Chest to chest. All you could feel was him. Him, him, him. And as you came, he returned his lips to yours, claiming your mouth with his own, swallowing your moans, all while fucking you through your orgasm.

His own came next. But first, he pressed you against the ground. He then hooked his hands underneath your knees, raising them, pumped and pumped and moaned and pumped some more, all until he finally fucked you and himself silly, so silly that he wasn’t certain he’d ever stop cumming. You felt too good.

No part of you ever had to wonder if Satoru only wanted sex. Not when, afterwards, he held you close, exchanging soft, sweet kisses with you as if you two were a happy couple warm in a bed.

“No, I’m serious,” Satoru laughed softly. “I am-I was a teacher, but I can’t tell the difference between a crocodile and an alligator. I mean, who cares when you should be running away from it anyway?”

“You can tell by, um, their snouts, I think. Oh, did you know moose are way bigger than most people think they are?”

“I did, yeah. I also heard there’s this huge debate over whether or not dinosaurs are bigger or smaller than the media portrays ‘em to be.”

“Have you heard the theory about dinosaurs having feathers?”

“I remember some students of mine talking about that. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Your mindless, simple chatter went on, on, and on, well into the night when you both fell asleep in each other's arms, safe.

—

Satoru awakened to the rising sun, fading smoke from a long-gone fire, forgotten, cooked fish, and you, frowning down at him.

“Someone frowning the morning after isn’t a good sign,” he said, sitting up, yawning. “And here I remember someone cumming all over-”

“Aht, aht, aht. Enough.” You coughed. I can’t believe that’s your first sentence as soon as you wake up. But I’m frowning because it just hit me that you didn’t pull out. I’m imagining the worst-case scenario.”

Satoru rose to his feet, stretching his sore limbs. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss his mattress. He could only hope his friends didn’t give it away, thinking he was dead and long gone — not that he’d blame them.

“At the camp, we have a doctor there, goes by Shoko. I’m sure she could help with all kinds of scenarios,” Satoru’s face was blank, unrevealing to what scenarios he could have been imagining.

You scratched the side of your head. “What else do you guys have?”

“Books.” Satoru, who reached into his backpack and waved the red, thick novel at you, continued, “More than this one you’ve been eyeing.”

“You’re joking.” Your eyes widened a bit.

“No joke, baby. We’ve got everything from classics to shitty romantasy.” He put the book back in his bag, making a mental note to hand it to you later on once you both could settle down once again. But right now, you had to keep moving. “But, uh, I don’t think anyone’s been breaking into any libraries since this all started, ‘cept you, of course. Why don’t you have any?”

You stood, grabbing your belongings, including the uneaten fish. “I’m always on the move with limited space. The only things I can afford to carry are what I need to survive. Plus, the last book I had fell into a river. I didn’t get to finish-” you cleared your throat. “To finish-”

False alarm. There wasn’t a little something caught in your throat. It was a full on coughing fit.

“Here, drink some water,” Satoru hurriedly reached into his bag for his bottle. “Sit down.”

It was hard to hear him over your own coughs. But he sounded calm. Probably because you both instantly ran over every scenario in your head that could result in such a coughing spell from you, but as far as you both could remember, you hadn’t been bitten. You weren’t infected. You were healthy.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine,” you said, shaking your head at his offer of water. “People cough sometimes. Let’s keep moving.”

—

There came a point during your trek through the ruins of a city with skyscraper buildings in which Satoru was ahead of you.

“So, about the book in my backpack, I’ll give it to you, but, in exchange, I want you to call me ‘Toru at least ten times a day. You only do it when you’re scared, but I wanna hear it more often. How does that sound?” He said with a grin.

But when his annoying behavior wasn’t met with a response, his smile faded.

He turned around to face you, and that’s when he saw it. The way your limbs trembled. The way your chest heaved.

“Baby?” He called out with great worry.

You suddenly collapsed.

Your body hit the ground hard, much too fast for him to catch you. He rushed to your side, falling to his knees and ignoring the ache such a move shot through his legs.

“Baby, wake up. Come on, wake up.” He shook your shoulder.

Just as his hand touched your cheek, your eyes snapped open.

“Wh-what . . .”

Your words were nonsensical. You looked around, rather startled, and felt Satoru press his hand against your forehead.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re burning up.” He sat you up, but the movement made you flinch. Satoru figured that, perhaps, it was because of your fall. Until your hand gripped your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“There’s an ache in my shoulder.”

If something was wrong, I would’ve seen it last night, right? Satoru thought as he slowly removed your clothes, just enough to see you from behind. I would’ve seen it last night.

The back of your shoulder was exposed to him.

Or, rather, the big, festering wound was. It was red. Angry. Infected.

The same conditions were more commonly seen around bite marks, so much so, it was difficult to remember that scratches from those damned monsters were just as deadly. Having to slice off the hand of his pink-haired former student just to save his life, all because he had gotten bit just along his palm and he needed to act quickly to stop the infection from spreading sealed the memory of the symptoms into Satoru’s mind forever. And he was seeing it yet again.

But he couldn’t slice off this body part, not that it would help. You had been infected for too long, and he knew it, because as he stared at the scratch that, in itself, was barely visible to the naked eye, he remembered where it came from.

“The other day. After we reunited,” he whispered in shock. “There was one of ‘em behind you. I killed it, but it must’ve scratched your shoulder. I wasn’t fast enough. No, this can’t be happening. I just found you. I just found you. No . . . no, we can fix this.”

You started to tremble. “It’s just a scratch, maybe I’ll be fine if I just take some antibiotics or . . .” You shook your head at your own words. You knew that wasn’t how this worked. You laughed bitterly. “It’s just a scratch. I’m going to die . . . from a scratch. I’m gonna die-”

Satoru was in front of you in a flash. He cupped your face, though he was the one with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Look at me, baby. Shoko, that doctor I was telling you about, is brilliant. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. If we hurry, maybe we can get to her in time, and she can do something.”

It was wishful thinking. An idiotic mindset. You sniffled. “‘Toru, I don’t know.”

“We have to try, yeah?” Satoru helped you adjust your clothes and guided you to your feet. “Come on, let’s go. Can you stand up?”

—

You walked for a while until walking became difficult.

Satoru carried you for a while until even resting against his back became difficult.

It was night time, the woods as dark as ever, when you started coughing again. This time, blood came with it, spewing from between your lips and across Satoru’s shoulder, decorating his shirt in red specks.

The coughing was endless. He stopped walking, lowered you against a tree, and pulled out his water.

Your only responsibility was to drink as many sips as you could while he built a fire. You watched him do it, his brows pinched in dread and concentration. Perhaps, realization as well.

Satoru appeared in front of you again, able to see your face clearly now, and thus, your bloodshot eyes, dried, blood-covered lips, and sweaty skin.

“I don’t wanna die,” you whispered.

He could barely hear you. You didn't have enough energy to speak properly. He knew — he knew — even if Shoko could do something — and she couldn’t, or else Yuji Itadori would still have both hands, Nobara Kugisaki would still have an eye, and Kento Nanami would still be alive — you would never make it back to the camp.

He wasn’t certain if you’d make it through the night.

And the thought of that made him wish he was dead, because he couldn’t fucking stand it.

Satoru gently pulled you close, holding your trembling frame against his chest. He too was shaking. Kissing the top of your head, he said, “I’ll hold you the entire time. I promise.”

“But I’ll hurt you. I’ll-I’ll kill you,” you cried softly, soaking his shirt. “I don’t wanna turn into one of those things. Please don’t let me. Kill me before then.”

Suddenly, Satoru heard familiar groans and growls in the distance.

He leaned you back against the tree, eyeing the direction it came from as he pulled out his knife.

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back.”

“No,” you tried to reach for his shirt with the intent to tug on it and stop him, but you missed him entirely, swiping at the air instead. “I should handle it. I’m dead anyway. ‘Toru, please-”

You started to cough again. Blood spilled out onto your chin, and that was all the confirmation Satoru needed to know you weren’t strong enough — not that he’d let you do it to begin with.

He left to the heartbreaking sound of you weakly calling his name.

The last thing he wanted was to leave your side, but based on the noise, it was only one, and he’ll be damned if you were eaten alive whilst you were already dying. No. he’d make your death as peaceful as possible. Hold you the entire time. Stroke your skin and-

Satoru thrusted his knife into the head of a zombie. This one, though, was a big guy. It was just as tall as he was — well over six feet — but not only did it have the crazy strength that all of those dead creatures possessed, but he had over a hundred pounds on Satoru.

And Satoru’s horrid mental state and lack of concentration didn’t do him any favors. Thus, while he was able to kill it, he didn’t account for how close he was to the edge of a hill, nor that the zombie would fall forward onto him, and send him and itself rolling down the hill.

—

An explosion of pain made his limbs feel like they were on fire. It was a bad fall into what was seemingly a pit at the bottom of that damned hill he rolled down. His head ached, there was blood from him smacking his skull against the ground, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as the weight of that dead thing on top of him, crushing him, and putting pressure on his badly twisted ankle.

Getting out of this pit would have been hell even if he didn’t have the extra obstacles of being injured and trapped.

But he had to get out.

You needed him.

—

It took over an hour.

It was hell. Climbing, crawling, grunting in pain. But he made it to the top of the hill, and upon seeing the flickering flames from the fire he created to keep you warm, he ignored the pain shooting through his body, and half walked, half dragged himself back to you.

He saw the book first.

It was on the ground, flipped open. He almost smiled at the thought of you seeking it out and reading it as best as you could in your condition, as you had been eyeing it since your great reunion, but hadn’t yet asked him for it.

He stepped closer, and that was when he noticed that some of the pages were in fine condition, but once you seemingly made it to page twenty, the inked contents were ripped. Page after page. Nearly shredded. Each one more destroyed than the last.

He heard something rattle.

Satoru darted his eyes over to you. You were digging through his backpack, unaware of his approaching footsteps.

“ . . . ‘Toru,” you called out in a voice he didn’t recognize.

Suddenly, your trembling hands started to pull things out of his bag one by one. You grew more angry, more dissatisfied with every item that wasn’t the one you seeked, tossing things against the ground as you groaned angrily, until finally, you pulled out what you wanted.

His photo album.

He called your name softly, and you froze.

And when you turned to face him, he knew he lost you.

The light in your eyes was completely gone. You smiled at him, but not lovingly. Your blood-soaked teeth shined as you grinned with hunger, that same blood dripping, dripping, dripping from your chin, and just before he could break down and cry at the sight, you launched at him.

It was quite funny. Alive and somewhat well, you had forgotten all about him during the four years you thought he was dead. But in this condition, dead and bloodthirsty, part of you still remembered the man you currently tried to devour. Your dying self must have missed him terribly, coughing up blood as you knew you were going to turn into one of those horrid things, and there was no one by your side.

You died alone, waiting for him. Reading to keep yourself company.

Just as you once did while you waited outside of restaurants for him.

And now, you had been clenching that photo album. All because, even while dead, you wanted ‘Toru.

Tears streamed down his face as he pulled you between his legs, held your wrists with one large hand, then held your head, snapping jaw and all, against his chest.

He broke his promise to hold you earlier. But maybe, if he held you now . . .

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Satoru cried. He released your head for a moment, and you bit his hand, ripping his flesh, but it didn’t matter.

With his bleeding, infected hand, he felt around your hips for the gun within the holster of your pants.

You gave a mixed noise; it was inhuman, the groaning and growling all of those monsters made, but there was something else there. A cry of his name underneath it all.

As tears clouded his blue eyes, blurring his vision, Satoru pressed the gun against your head.

He couldn’t speak anymore. It was too much.

Therefore, he thought, I love you.

The bullet was fired through your skull. Your body went limp in his arms, blood drenching his clothes in such a disturbing way, it freed his mind of any doubts he might have had about his next move.

But there weren’t any, truth be told.

Don’t be scared, you won’t be alone, baby. I’m coming with you, he thought.

When he pressed the hot gun that burned his temple against the side of his forehead, he fired it, as he knew he wanted to die with you from the moment he realized your fate upon looking at your shoulder.

After all, he swore that he’d follow you anywhere, and the brain matter that spewed from his head just before his dead body collapsed on top of yours devastatingly proved it so.